It Happened This Way
by MadamHazel
Summary: What if the djinn-verse were real? What if Mary never died? Dean, living a normal life with no knowledge of the supernatural, is visited by an angel who changes his life forever. Pre-slash.
1. Chapter 1

A/N: I would recommend watching episode 2x20 before reading this, because this is based almost entirely on the universe in that episode. So, I'm branching into Supernatural fanfiction, with much fear and trepidation. I have most of this written already, so if you like it, I'll post more.

* * *

The only thing Dean could think about was what his mother would say. He knew what Sam would say- his brother had always thought of him as a failure, unable to take care of anyone, including himself. His split with Carmen had only served to cement that in the minds of everyone he knew.

He sighed and put his head in his hands. After Carmen had left him, saying that he 'always had his mind elsewhere,' whatever the hell that meant- anyway, after she left him, he just lost all sense of purpose. He'd spent all of his time in bars, more often than not getting into fights and staggering home at obscene hours of the morning decorated with cuts and bruises.

Obviously, this resulted in Pete getting on his case at work. Even though Pete had been an old friend of Dad's, he was also a good businessman. Dean couldn't blame him, really. Couldn't blame any of them, not even Sam. After all, look where he was now.

Dean glanced around the cell full of passed-out drunks and wondered where the hell his life was going.

Suddenly a gravelly voice very close to him said, "Dean Winchester." It was a declaration, not a question, and Dean looked up.

Standing outside the cell, as close to the bars as was physically possible, was one of the weirdest guys Dean had ever seen. It wasn't exactly how he looked, though sure, the rumpled suit and trenchcoat weren't exactly normal, especially when combined with the messy hair- but it was the guy's whole attitude that that was weird. Like the way he stared at Dean like Dean had the answer to everything.

"What's it to you?" Dean snapped in return, the alcohol and his situation making him more belligerent than usual.

"I am Castiel," the guy said, as if that meant something to Dean.

"Good for you," Dean said, "What the hell do you want with me?"

"You are not supposed to be here," the guy- Castiel said, furrowing his brow.

Dean let out a bitter laugh. "You're telling me," he said, "My brother always tells me that I should settle down and have a normal life like him. You know, a beautiful wife, a dog and a respectable job."

"Your brother…" Castiel said contemplatively, "Sam Winchester."

"How do you know that?" Dean snapped, suddenly aware of the oddness of the situation, "Who are you?"

The other man tilted his head and said, "I am Castiel. I'm an angel of the Lord."

Now it was Dean who did the staring. "Bullshit," he said.

Castiel looked mortally offended. "It is not. I have been sent to retrieve you."

"Retrieve me?" Dean said, "For what? Angel school?"

Castiel frowned and said, "Humans cannot become angels, Dean."

Dean laughed. "Of course, why didn't I remember that?"

"You wouldn't have known," Castiel said gravely, apparently not detecting the sarcasm. "I was sent here because you are fated to stop Lucifer from rising."

Dean stared again. "Double bullshit," he said, then added, "Who's supposed to have sent you anyway?"

Castiel drew himself up regally and said, "God has sent me here."

Dean's reaction was obviously not what the supposed angel expected. Dean sighed and leaned back against the moldy wall and said, "Well, that's great for you, Sparky, but God hasn't really done jack for me so far."

"My name is not Sparky," Castiel said irritably, "My name is-"

"Yeah, yeah, it's Castiel, I know. You've said," Dean replied, "It was a nickname."

"Oh," Castiel said. He paused to consider. "I don't think I like it."

Dean leaned forward, putting his elbows on his knees. "If you're an angel," he said, "then prove it."

Castiel looked at the unconscious bodies in the cell with Dean, and said, "I will. But not here."

"If you've got a way to get me out of here, I'd love to hear it," Dean said, looking away from Castiel for a second to survey his surroundings. When he looked back, the other man was inside the cell and disturbingly close into Dean's personal space.

"What-" was all Dean could get out before Castiel toughed his forehead and he found himself in his apartment.

"What the hell was that?" Dean yelled, and if his voice went higher than normal, well, he figured he had a damn good reason.

"Proof," Castiel said, and he looked awfully smug for a guy who was supposed to be righteous and holy.

"Okay," Dean said, trying to get his bearing. "Okay. I'm dreaming, I must be. I'll just try and wake up and-"

"This isn't a dream, Dean."

"It _has_ to be," Dean insisted, "Because angels aren't real."

"Angels are real," Castiel said steadily, "As well as demons, ghosts, vampires, and every other thing you told yourself wasn't trying to kill you."

"This is crazy," Dean said, "_You're_ crazy. Get out."

"No," and now it was Castiel that was insistent. "You have a destiny to fulfill."

"Screw my destiny!" Dean said, "And screw you. You can't shove all this on a guy at once."

"Dean-" Castiel said, obviously growing more irritated the more time he spent with the mechanic.

He was interrupted by Dean's cell phone ringing. Dean dove for the phone, which was on the table, desperate for anything to get him out of this bizarro conversation. "This is Dean," he said, ignoring Castiel's look of betrayal.

His mother's voice came across the line. "Hey, Dean. Can we talk?"

"Um, now?" he said, glancing at Castiel, who was glaring at the phone like it had just burned a cross in front of him. "Because now's not really a good time."

"I was hoping we could talk face to face," his mother said, "Do you have tomorrow off from work?"

"What? Uh, yeah." Castiel was now staring intently at him, as if trying to will him to put the phone down. Dean wondered if angels needed to blink.

His mother was saying, "Why don't you come over for lunch? We can have a talk, you know, some mother-son bonding ti-"

"Yeah sure, Mom, I'll be there, see you then. Bye." Dean felt bad for blowing his mom off like that, but this situation was too weird for him to be concerned with manners.

He and Castiel stared at each other for a long while. Dean's gaze was accusatory, trying to bore into the angel's mind. Castiel's stare was simply confused, as though he couldn't understand why Dean would object to what was going on. Finally, Dean said, "I still don't believe you."

Castiel nodded in acceptance of this. "You will," he said.

Dean sighed and rubbed his face with his hands. "I'm too drunk and tired to deal with this right now," he groaned into his palms.

"You're going to have to deal with it sometime soon," Castiel's voice said from above him.

Dean looked at the angel and said, "Not. Now."

Castiel nodded his head, apparently in assent since he disappeared a second later, leaving nothing behind but a blossoming migraine in Dean's head.

Dean looked contemplatively at the bedroom. It had been a long day, quite possibly the longest in his life, and he should get some sleep. After all, getting drunk was what got him into this situation to begin with…He shrugged and headed to the fridge to get a beer.


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: So, here's chapter two. Updates will be totally random, based on whenever the hell I feel like it, so don't hold your breath. Thank you for the story alerts and favorites, and reviews are always appreciated!

* * *

Dean woke up with a splitting headache and a vivid memory of the night before. Unfortunately, all the alcohol in the world couldn't erase a visit from an angel.

He groaned at the light pouring in through the window and threw his hand over his face. His cell phone started ringing, making his ears hurt as well as his eyes. Ignoring the shrill sound, he stumbled up off the couch and into the kitchen. He fixed himself a cup of instant coffee and noticed that his cell phone's screen showed that he had voicemail messages.

The night before, he'd left his phone at the apartment. He'd wanted to get away from everyone, from all the people that called him a failure. He snorted into his nasty-ass coffee (he'd never been good at making it)- even angels thought he couldn't do anything right.

Dean sighed and sat at the table, staring at the phone and waiting for his head to clear. Finally he recognized that he couldn't put it off forever, and so he flipped his phone open and dialed his voicemail. The impersonal female voice announced that he had five new voice messages, and he pressed the button to play them.

"Hey, Dean, it's Pete. We need to talk about your work performance. Now, I know you've had it rough recently, but you can't just-"

Save it for later. It would end the same way conversations with Pete always ended- a plaintive plea of 'what would your father say?' He went on to the next message.

"Hello, Mr. Winchester, this is to inform you that you are late on your payment for-"

Delete. How could he think about bills when he was still processing that angels were real? Next message.

"It's Carmen. I called to-"

Oh Jesus no. He was so not willing to deal with Carmen right now. Or ever again, but especially not now. He deleted the message and moved on.

"Pick up your phone, Dean, so you know that-"

Carmen again. Delete.

"Dean, it's Sam." Dean supposed he should listen to this one. He and Sam communicated so little as it was, that any contact was for an important reason. "Both Mom and Carmen have been calling me about you. Now, I know we agreed that I don't get involved in your business, but this is getting out of hand, man. We'll talk about it when I get there Friday night."

Dean groaned as the machine voice cheerfully announced that there were no more messages. Saturday was Mom's birthday, and he had totally forgotten. He didn't usually forget, but with the whole regularly-drinking-himself-into-a-stupor, getting-arrested, touched-by-an-angel thing, it had slipped his mind. He supposed that meant he'd have to go out to dinner, and submit to the annual tradition or watching his mom mentally comparing him and Sam.

He looked at the clock. It was 10:30 in the morning. Dean rubbed his face and was about to go get ready to leave, when a headline caught his eye.

FOURTH MISSING GIRL, it declared, and normally Dean would have ignored it, but recent events had changed his view of the world. He remembered what Castiel had said, that not only angels were real, but also demons and monsters.

And maybe this didn't have anything to do with the supernatural, but Dean's gut instinct led him to sit back down and pick up the newspaper. He still had plenty of time to get over to Mom's.

* * *

At 12:15, the Impala screeched to a stop outside the Winchester family home. Dean was out of the car and rushing halfway up the walkway before he realized that someone was on the porch talking to his mom. It took an even longer moment for Dean to recognize that someone as Deputy Jake Ellsby, an old friend of his who also happened to be the one that had dropped Dean in the drunk tank last night.

Dean stood awkwardly on the walkway until Jake and his mom finished their conversation and walked towards Dean.

"Hey, Dean," Jake said casually, and his voice only held a hint of an edge to it. "Where'd you go last night?"

Dean shrugged as noncommittally as he could. "It was just a weird night last night. I barely even remember most of it."

It was weak, Dean knew that as well as Jake did. But the deputy just shook his head and said, "As far as the record goes, I made it so you were never there. But Dean, you can't keep doing this to yourself. It know it's none of my business, but you're worrying your family sick."

"You're right," Dean said, "It's none of your business."

Jake conceded and moved on, and Dean walked up to the porch to meet his mother.

She hugged him as soon as he reached her. He could tell that it wasn't just an 'I'm happy to see you' hug, it was an 'I'm really worried about you' hug. Dean accepted it nevertheless, knowing that it was just a precursor to the conversation to come.

Sure enough, as soon as she pulled away, his mom said, "Dean, getting thrown in jail? What happened?"

"It was just a bar fight, Mom," Dean said, trying to reassure her. "Just a little too much drunk and disorderly. Besides, you heard Jake, it's not even on my record."

She didn't look reassured. "And what will you do if it happens again and Jake isn't there?"

"It won't happen again," Dean promised.

She obviously didn't believe him, and that hurt Dean more than any punch could. They moved inside into the living room, Dean migrating to his usual spot on the couch and his mom to her chair.

They sat in tension-filled silence until his mom said, "I remember how close you and Jake were in high school. You two were always in trouble for something or another." She smiled in fond reminiscence. "Sam was so embarrassed that he'd pretend you were someone else's brother."

Dean snorted. "Well, nothing's changed there, then."

His mom's smile faded and her brow creased again. "But Jake grew up," she said, "And now he's got a wife, and kids, and a respectable job."

"I have a job," Dean protested.

"A job that you never show up for, one that you never work hard in," his mother replied, "It's not the same thing, Dean. He's a respected member of the community."

"And I'm not?" Dean asked, but she didn't have to say anything for him to know the answer.

"You're almost thirty," was all his mom said in reply, "Isn't it time you settled down? You almost made it with Carmen."

"Yeah, well, look how that turned out," Dean groused, standing up to go look at the family pictures. Anything to avoid seeing his mother's disappointment. "I'm just not the settling down type," he said more gently, "Normal just isn't my thing."

He heard his mom sigh. "Sometimes I wonder if I raised you right," she said.

He immediately turned and sat on the side of the couch closest to her, saying, "Of course you did. You and Dad did a great job raising us, I mean, look at Sam. If I'm a screw up it's my fault, not yours."

She shook her head, as if they were playing poker and she knew he had a losing hand. "Maybe I should have told you more," she said, "Explained more about the world."

"Mom, I told you," Dean started, then stopped abruptly. His eyes had accidentally roamed over to the window, where he saw a familiar blue-eyed, trench-coated figure standing right outside the window and staring in. Dean's heart startled in his chest, and he lurched to his feet.

"Dean?" his mom said, but he was already at the door by the time she finished speaking. He called out hasty excuses and apologies as he ran out into the yard to look for the angel.


	3. Chapter 3

A/N: It's been how long again? Yeah, sorry. I have no excuses, I'm just a bad person. Anyway, enjoy lots of talking and introspection! Also, the chapters are going to be a little bit longer from here on out. Yay!

* * *

Castiel was standing beside the Impala by the time Dean was outside. Dean briefly wondered how he had gotten from the other side of the house so quickly, then remembered the teleporting things. And how weird was it that he had to remember someone's _teleportation_ abilities?

"I apologize if I interrupted your conversation," Castiel said, not sounding apologetic at all.

Dean shrugged. "It was just the same old stuff I've been hearing all my life. Honestly, I'm happy to get out of it."

"Well, I'm…glad I could help you with that."

Dean couldn't tell if he was being sarcastic or not. He wondered if angels could even do sarcasm.

His mother peered out the door and called, "Dean?"

Dean turned back to her and said, "It's fine, Mom, I just saw a friend. We have some stuff I need to talk about. See you later!"

His mother, standing on the porch looking nonplussed, said, "Are you going to come over tonight when your brother gets here?"

"Maybe," Dean replied, mentally repeating _no way in hell_. "I'll definitely be here tomorrow, though"

And with that he jumped into the car, motioning for Castiel to get in the other side. The angel did so, examining the car as if to see if it would try to eat him.

As Dean sped away from the curb, Castiel said, "Where are we going?"

Dean shrugged, feeling an intense desire to put in a tape of obnoxiously loud music, but knowing it would be best not to. "Nowhere. Anywhere. I just figured that you wouldn't want to talk about whatever the hell you're going to talk about in front of my mom."

"This is preferable, yes."

They sat in silence for a long minute, Dean tapping out an unsteady rhythm on the steering wheel. While Castiel seemed content to sit perfectly still and stare out the windshield without speaking, questions itched at the inside of Dean's brain.

He stilled his hands on the steering wheel and said, "So, uh…last night."

Castiel looked at him, his head tilted and his eyebrows raised in what was obviously supposed to be pleasant surprise. The expression looked foreign on him, like he had to teach himself what pleasant surprise looked like. He didn't say anything.

Dean continued, "You said I was destined to stop Lucifer from rising."

Castiel nodded. "That is correct. It is God's will."

"Yeah, but how is a mechanic from Lawrence supposed to stop the devil?" Dean said, "It's not like I'm anything special. I can't even keep a steady girlfriend."

Now Castiel's expression was as incredulous as he could make it. "You are very special," he said, "Otherwise I would not have come to you." He sounded so sincere, like a revival preacher speaking on the word of God. Dean supposed that, in a way, he was.

Dean felt his face go red, and he coughed and shifted in his seat. "But how, exactly, am I supposed to do this?" he asked, trying to get back on a topic he was relatively more comfortable with. "I mean, do I have to do a spell? A chant? Click my heels three times and say 'there's no place like home?"

"That knowledge is not available to me," Castiel said, "Though I don't believe any heel-clicking will be required."

"You mean you came down to me just to tell me about the destiny you don't even know anything about?" Dean exclaimed.

Castiel said serenely, "It is God's will that I do this, and that is sufficient for me."

"Well, it's not for me!" Dean snapped, clenching his jaw and glaring at the road ahead of him.

Neither of them said anything for a while. Dean could feel the angel staring at him, but refused to acknowledge his gaze.

"Dean," Castiel said finally, sounding pensive, "Are you happy here?"

Dean's foot slipped off the accelerator in shock. "What kind of question is that?" he demanded.

Castiel seemed unfazed, insisting, "Do you feel like you belong here?"

"Last night you said I didn't," Dean said, and almost started praying to avoid talking about his feelings.

Not to be deterred, Castiel replied, "That was how I felt. How do you feel?"

"What are you, my therapist?" Dean said defensively. In a desperate attempt to change the subject, he said, "You said that other things were real, too. What kind of things?"

Castiel stared at him, apparently unable to decipher Dean's body language that screamed 'don't make me talk about this.' Nevertheless, the angel conceded to the shift in tone and answered, "Demons, ghosts, vampires, shapeshifters- it is most likely that if there's lore of it, it exists and has killed people."

"Well, that's pleasant," Dean snorted, but despite his sarcasm the tension was easing out of his shoulders.

"Why do ask?" Castiel tilted his head again.

Dean hesitated, taking a short breath before saying, "There's been four missing girls in the past four weeks around here, last seen around the same place. I wasn't sure, but I thought-"

Castiel nodded. "There's a definite possibility of a supernatural cause," he said, "These things tend to occur in patterns."

"So then what would it- shit." Dean's aimless driving had taken him in front of his apartment building, where a familiar figure was staring impatiently at the front door. She looked up when she heard the Impala turn onto the street.

"It's Carmen," Dean said, in response to Castiel's inquisitive expression, "My ex. You should probably go."

Dean heard a soft flutter, and when he looked over at the passenger's seat, Castiel was gone. He would have almost preferred to continue talking to the angel than talking to Carmen and god, his life had gotten weird since yesterday.

As soon as he parked the car and got out, Carmen stormed over to him, eyes set in an icy glint.

"Why haven't you been answering your phone?" she demanded.

"I've been busy," Dean said, sounding overly defensive even to his own ears.

"Busy?" Carmen snapped, her voice getting shrill, "I've called you five times, Dean. And it's not like you work too hard at your job to answer, I know that, and you certainly don't have a social life outside of your mother and strangers in bars. So tell me, what have you been doing?" She put her hands on her hips and glared accusingly.

"Look, I'm sorry," was all Dean could say. It wasn't as though he could tell her the truth.

His meager apology was clearly not enough for her, and she tilted her hips and said, "Dean, we planned that I'd come over and get my stuff weeks ago. We picked out a day and everything. And now I get here, and I have to wait for half an hour locked outside of what used to be _my_ apartment. What were you doing?"

"Oh," Dean said. He did feel bad about that. After all, he hadn't been the one who had wanted the breakup. "I had lunch with Mom," he explained, "I'm sorry. I forgot."

Carmen's gaze softened at the mention of Mary Winchester. It didn't soften completely though, and she nodded her head towards the door. "You gonna let me in?" she asked.

Dean put in the code for the apartment building door, and Carmen followed him inside. The elevator ride up to his floor was just as silent and awkward as he had feared. He glanced over at Carmen to see her biting her lip and staring into space.

There was a time when even that would have made him crazy with lust. Sure, he was still attracted to her- he had eyes and she was hot. Now, at a distance from their relationship, maybe lust was all it had been. Lust, and not thinking he wanted anything else.

The ding of the elevator interrupted his thoughts. Jesus, maybe he did need to lay off the booze if he was slipping into introspective musings at the drop of a hat.

Dean let Carmen into the apartment, and she started moving around picking up her things. Her movements were jerky and her breathing was erratic.

Finally, Dean had to ask, "Are you okay?"

Carmen slammed a picture frame down particularly hard on the table and took a deep, shaky breath. "Do you remember my friend Janet?"

"Theater major Janet?" Dean said.

Carmen nodded. "She's missing," she said, "Since the day before yesterday."

All of Dean's senses seemed to stand on end, and he had to restrain himself from leaning forward as he inquired, "Where was she last seen?"

Carmen, bemused by his intensity, answered, "Um, near that group of abandoned houses on the edge of town."

"Like where those four other girls went missing?"

"I suppose so. Why?"

* * *

As soon as Carmen left, Dean pulled out the newspaper clipping and notes that he had made. He stared at them, rubbing his forehead.

"This can't be a coincidence," he said, and pulled out a map as well.

He was already halfway through marking all the places the girls were last seen, when he suddenly put his pencil down and leaned back. This wasn't his problem. Why was he even bothering? He stood up and began to pace.

He didn't even know these girls. He had only met Janet twice, after all. There were probably other people who could handle this, people way more qualified than he was.

So why, when he had first seen the article, did he immediately start working? Why had it come so naturally to him to start analyzing patterns and looking for the thing that took those girls?

Before Dean could formulate the answer to any of those questions his cell phone rang. He answered it, and an unfamiliar woman's voice said, "Dean Winchester?"

"That's me," he said, "Who's asking?"

She chuckled and replied, "You're just as gruff as he said you'd be. I'm Missouri Moseley."

"You mean the psychic?" For a few months when they had been together, Carmen had been all into that psychic crap and had visited every supposed psychic in town.

Dean continued, "And who told you about me?"

"Your friend in the trenchcoat," she said, "The angel one. He said you had a supernatural problem, and told me to help you however I could."

Dean groaned. "That guy," he muttered to himself, then spoke to Missouri over the phone. "Listen, I'm sorry about him. He shouldn't have bothered you."

"Oh, it's no trouble," she assured him, "It's not every day I get a visit from an angel. Besides, someone's got to save those poor girls, and there aren't any active hunters in the area."

"About that," he said hesitantly.

"Yes?"

"I'm not sure I'm going to do anything. I mean, it's not my problem, right?"

Missouri sounded amused when she said, "Are you sure?"

"Honestly?" Dean said, "I don't know."

There was a brief silence, then Missouri said, "Well, if you ever change your mind, I'm usually at my house. You know where that is?"

"Yeah," Dean said, "I know."

Dean hung up and put the phone on the table. He stared at the wall and tried to clear his mind of the muddled thoughts that raced around in it. As his empty gaze roamed over the walls of his apartment, his eye caught on the shelf that contained his family pictures.

Almost unable to control himself, he walked over to the shelf and started examining the pictures. He bypassed the pictures of Carmen quickly, an easy feat since she had taken most of them with her. He looked at the pictures of him and his family; him and Mom when he was a baby, he and Sam playing when Sam was young enough to look up to him. All four of them one Christmas wearing those stupid matching sweaters. Dad in his softball uniform.

Dean stopped when he got to that last picture and stared for a long moment. He and Dad had never really gotten along- Dad always had high expectations of his sons. Sam had lived up to and even exceeded those expectations. Dean…had not. As such, Sam was the favored child, and Dean was the one constantly getting into fights with Dad while Mom tried to break them up.

When his dad died, Dean was barely able to eat for weeks. He had tried to be strong, to be there for Mom, but it still broke him a little inside. Because while he was closer to Mom, Dad was the one he had looked up to, ever since he was old enough to remember. The man had always seemed to know what to do and where to go, possessing a sense of purpose that Dean had never had.

More than anything, Dean wished that the stubborn old man were here to tell him what to do.

Dean stared at the picture a moment longer, then grabbed his coat and his keys and headed out the door.


End file.
